Help You Carry It

"I was 14," August said, crossing her arms. "I was at a party with friends and some guys we didn't really know. I ended up in a room I couldn't get out of," the mask she wore paled considerably, but she continued staring at him like she was challenging him to hear it. "With two of them," her eyebrows raised, remembering.

The air was sucked out of Graeme's lungs as he looked back at the girl who was now far away in her mind, staring past him. She looked hollow, the specter of a memory whistling through her. Graeme grabbed her hands to bring her back to him.

"I'm not a lycan, but…" August whispered as she refocused back on his face, "but I'm not weak, Graeme. I'm not. That—that didn't break me, and this won't either. I can handle this."